Another Facebook Story
Just a little something I put on Facebook. It was a writing prompt from the Band of Dystopian Authors and Fans....
It had been years since I had seen another human. The face that disappeared from the upstairs window as I approached my house told me that was about to change.
I broke into a run. My supplies...the sonofabitch is in my bedroom, I thought as I hit the porch. Checking out the door revealed it dented and broken. I ran my hand over the splintered wood. “Dammit to hell!” I said to myself. Something else to fix. I pulled my trusty shotgun out. Nobody broke into my house and took my supplies.
I pushed the door open, and burst into the living room. A dark shape was hunched over a pile of stolen items. My stuff. My entrance startled the thief, and they tried to get up and run. The interloper tripped over their own boots, and fell hard to the ground.
Shuffling forward, my mind raced. I debated shooting the intruder. The thief sat up against the wall, faced me, and fumbled under their clothes. I was soon staring at a huge revolver. “Stop! I'll kill you,” the supply thief yelled in a feminine tone.
It was a girl. She couldn't be more than twenty years old. She was wearing a tattered dress covered by a large jacket. She was just a wisp, a ghost...all hollow cheeks and pale skin. Her gun shook as she pointed it at my heart.
The ghost girl pulled the hammer back. “I mean it. I'll kill you.”
She had just been a baby when the war came. I wasn't going to kill her. I couldn't kill a kid. Putting the shotgun down, I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a granola bar. Maybe the last granola bar on the whole planet.
The girl put her head down. She placed the gun in my hand, taking the granola bar at the same time. She sank to the floor and began to cry. I kneeled down to comfort her.
She was too weak to open the granola bar. I did it for her. Looking up with watery eyes, she said, “I'm sick. I think I'm dying...the radiation...”
I put my arm around her. “You're not sick...just hungry.” As she ate, I checked out her gun. Rusty and covered in mold, it was not operable.
“I wouldn't have killed you. Even if the gun worked,” she said.
“I know.” I placed her weapon on the nearest table. It joined a pile of other rusty and moldy guns.
It had been years since I had seen another human. The face that disappeared from the upstairs window as I approached my house told me that was about to change.
I broke into a run. My supplies...the sonofabitch is in my bedroom, I thought as I hit the porch. Checking out the door revealed it dented and broken. I ran my hand over the splintered wood. “Dammit to hell!” I said to myself. Something else to fix. I pulled my trusty shotgun out. Nobody broke into my house and took my supplies.
I pushed the door open, and burst into the living room. A dark shape was hunched over a pile of stolen items. My stuff. My entrance startled the thief, and they tried to get up and run. The interloper tripped over their own boots, and fell hard to the ground.
Shuffling forward, my mind raced. I debated shooting the intruder. The thief sat up against the wall, faced me, and fumbled under their clothes. I was soon staring at a huge revolver. “Stop! I'll kill you,” the supply thief yelled in a feminine tone.
It was a girl. She couldn't be more than twenty years old. She was wearing a tattered dress covered by a large jacket. She was just a wisp, a ghost...all hollow cheeks and pale skin. Her gun shook as she pointed it at my heart.
The ghost girl pulled the hammer back. “I mean it. I'll kill you.”
She had just been a baby when the war came. I wasn't going to kill her. I couldn't kill a kid. Putting the shotgun down, I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a granola bar. Maybe the last granola bar on the whole planet.
The girl put her head down. She placed the gun in my hand, taking the granola bar at the same time. She sank to the floor and began to cry. I kneeled down to comfort her.
She was too weak to open the granola bar. I did it for her. Looking up with watery eyes, she said, “I'm sick. I think I'm dying...the radiation...”
I put my arm around her. “You're not sick...just hungry.” As she ate, I checked out her gun. Rusty and covered in mold, it was not operable.
“I wouldn't have killed you. Even if the gun worked,” she said.
“I know.” I placed her weapon on the nearest table. It joined a pile of other rusty and moldy guns.
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